Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
“No,” is all he says, voice sour. “You weren’t. Now do you see why I wanted to leave right away?”
I nod, miserable. I get it now. I pick at the ties on the pack, hating that we’re trapped in this room together. I can’t even escape to someplace quiet and wallow in my shame. I must sit here and stare at Kalos and think about our kiss.
I… can’t.
“I think I’ll go downstairs and talk to the innkeeper. See if we can buy some supplies from him and get out of here sooner.” I jump to my feet and race to the door before Kalos can say anything else.
Maybe in a few hours, he’ll have forgotten all of this.
Maybe in a few hours, I will have, too. Something tells me it’s going to take longer than that, though. Every time I close my eyes, I think of how stiff and unyielding he was underneath my mouth, and I die a little more inside.
The next morning, I’m awoken by a knock at the door. I sit up in bed, eyeing Kalos. He’s seated by the window, staring out through the rippled glass as if it holds the secrets of the universe. He doesn’t move or even acknowledge the door.
I fight a yawn. “Should I get that?”
“I don’t know. Should you?” His tone is bored.
Right. I scrub a hand over my face. The knock comes again, this time far more insistent. I climb out of bed, keeping the blanket around my shoulders as a makeshift cloak and open the door a crack.
The innkeeper is there, a powerful expression of distaste on his face. He flicks his gaze over me and steps back. “This is them. The ones with the goat.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask as another man steps forward. He looks to be an unlikely messenger, with thick, messy hair and a potbelly under a wine-and-food-stained tunic. There’s a scarf over the lower half of his face, like a mask.
The new man has a hefty pack in his arms, and he holds it out to me. “I come from Gental’s camp with a message. You need to leave.”
“I’m…sorry? I’m not following.” I eye the pack he holds out to me.
He nudges it in my direction, and as he does, I see a few more men behind him. They wear pale yellow sashes crosswise over their chests, a clear show of allegiance. Unlike the man standing in front of me, they’re covered in armor and have swords strapped at their waists. As I watch, one puts his hand on the pommel as if daring me to act out. They’re wearing scarves over the lower halves of their faces as well. Is this some sort of Gental thing?
“You’re spreading plague about the city. Dozens of Lord Gental’s followers are down with a sickness. You need to leave.”
My jaw drops. I turn to look over at Kalos, but he continues to stare out the window, his expression bland. “We wouldn’t do that—”
“Not on purpose, but he’s either Apathy or Arrogance, and that means he’d do it inadvertently because he doesn’t care. Either that or he’s Lies and you’re not telling the truth.”
My jaw snaps shut. “Apathy,” I mumble after a moment. I’m horrified that our excursion yesterday has caused people to get sick. “He’s Apathy.”
“Exactly,” the man says, his voice muffled through the scarf. “He doesn’t care who he gets sick, and Lord Gental loves his people. He doesn’t want you two around, so we’re asking nicely that you leave. Nicely.”
The way he repeats the word “nicely” makes me think that if we don’t agree to leave, we’ll be given the not-nice route of leaving. “We’ll go,” I say. “We don’t want any trouble. We just came here to get supplies.”
He holds the bag out. “Supplies.”
I take it from him and stagger under the weight of it. “Thanks.”
“Make sure you rein him in as you leave. Lord Gental would be most displeased if his people died at his celebrations.”
As if I can rein in a god? I nod, watching as the guards finger their swords again before the group turns to leave. I nudge the door shut and lean against it, the heavy bag like a lead weight in my arms. I eye Kalos. “Did you infect anyone while we were out there?”
He shrugs, turning away from the window to glance at me. “Not deliberately.”
It’s not a denial. People truly don’t matter to him, then. I’m disappointed but not surprised. “Get your things,” I say dully. “We’ll leave and head for Balsingra as soon as we pack up.”
Chapter
Seventeen
We approach the infamous walls of Balsingra nearly a week later.
I’m relieved at the sight, even if the walls look far more forbidding and unfriendly than I’d hoped. Balsingra reminds me of a castle with its extremely tall gray ramparts, but not in a friendly, inviting sort of fairy-tale way. Rather, it looks unapproachable and forbidding, even though the roads leading to it are flat and open, and people flock in the direction of the city from all around.